


the night we met (flames dancing like stars)

by aelins



Series: the burning cities trilogy [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Kink, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, In which Azriel IS the russian mafia... when he's not busy being the fsb, Loss of Virginity, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy, Russian Mafia, Spies & Secret Agents, THERE'S A LOT OF PORN OK?, Time Skips, we stan a king
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelins/pseuds/aelins
Summary: Azriel is... a ghost of a man after he spends five years as a recluse in southern Siberia. He's been boarded up in his manor home, collecting secrets, finally when enemies press at Russia's considerably weakened Security Services--his brother Rhysand calls in a favor.It's supposed to be one meeting, one visit.But it's the night ofHalloweenand he can't shake the vision of the beautiful woman he helps that night.She comes to him, dressed in only a trench coat, and they spend the night together.Azriel gets so much more than a one night standA Halloween/Holidays elriel fic in the same universe asROME IS BURNING (BUT I STILL WANT YOU)that can be read separately!
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Azriel
Series: the burning cities trilogy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918576
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	1. unfuck you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chaol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaol/gifts).



> This is a spin-off fanfic of ROME IS BURNING. It can be read without reading the Nessian fic, however it might enrich your experience if you read both, however it is BY NO MEANS NECESSARY. EACH FIC CAN STAND ALONE! 
> 
> Now! This fic will have graphic depictions of violence and sex. Please be advised. 
> 
> I'm so excited for you all to read this, and I suspect it will be about 5 chapters, I hope! 
> 
> **for Lyddy, without your brilliance and determination i would have never written this. Thank you for your friendship and encouragement, it is truly a gift.**

**Five Years Ago, October. Moscow.**

Azriel Night walked the streets of Moscow, the first of the fall snow had just graced the streets. He was walking through Gorky Park, past revelers. It was Samhain or _Halloween_. He didn’t mind—they were simply college students who’d had too much vodka and Red Bull. He watched them jealously, he had his flask with him. A little vodka eased the descent into winter—a lot numbed the senses and robbed the mind of common sense.

And Azriel was nothing if not prepared.

After all, his brother was the ruler of this godforsaken country.

But Azriel was no foot soldier—not anymore at least.

The 9mm Beretta at the small of his back is a heavy moral weight on his heart. Still. He loves his country—no matter how many times it tries to kill him.

As he passes the revelers his mind goes to the middle Night brother. _Cassian_. God, what would Cassian say if he could see his eldest brother now? Drinking alone on Halloween and people-watching in Gorky Park. That had to be the height of misery.

Of course, there were other places he could be right now—the torn jeans and pea coat that’s at least three seasons old—it does not do him justice. Maybe if he shaved, cut his hair—he would look less like a college drop out and more like the oligarch he is.

He can’t bring himself to pull it together.

A girl, with beautifully wavy, golden-brown hair knocks into him, and she falls to the ground, clearly drunker than a skunk. The other girls she’s with simply keep running.

Azriel stands and helps her up, “Hey, you alright?” he asks in Russian.

“I’m fine,” the beautiful woman replies, and when her eyes meet his—he feels suddenly much drunker than the few sips of cheap vodka should be making him.

Her feline smile—it tells him volumes. “I—uh—“ Azriel has sen countless horrors, and endured endless indignities, and it’s a beautiful woman with winter flowers in her hair that robs him of breath?

The woman offers her hand, “My name’s Elain,” she holds her hand out expectantly—and Azriel looks like a fish out of water.

“Azriel—“ He replies.

“Thanks for the save,” Elain says and he notices her friends coming to find her.

“No problem.” He’s trying to not make this weird, but she seems to want to leave his company as much as he wants her to.

On impulse, she takes a pen out of her jacket and scribbles some numbers on his hand.

“For your trouble,” Elain replies and he watches as she goes, skipping off and giggling to her friends.

It makes him wonder how long he can hold onto the memory of her smile in the dying light of the late fall day—of the ribbons and flowers in her hair.

He’s tempted to scrub her number off his palm—it’s too tempting and he can’t afford distractions.

Azriel keeps it on his hand, and when he gets to his hotel—writes the number down and texts it.

**[Azriel]** Hey, it’s Az.

 **[Elain]** I thought you weren’t going to text :(

 **[Azriel]** Just gathering some liquid courage.

 **[Elain]** Why would you need courage? Pretty girls must fall over themselves to get in your bed.

 **[Azriel]** … are you implying you would like to get into my bed?

 **[Elain]** I gave you my number for a reason, silly.

 **[Azriel]** I don’t do one night stands.

 **[Elain]** You’re too hot for it to be a one night stand. Tell me we can be fwb at least?

 **[Azriel]** fwb? Help an old man out.

 **[Elain]** If you’re a day over twenty-two I’ll drop dead.

 **[Azriel]** Please don’t drop dead. I’m thirty-three.

 **[Elain]** An older man… that’s sexy.

 **[Azriel]** You’re making me blush. How old are you?

 **[Elain]** I’m twenty-three, I’ll be twenty-four on New Year’s.

 **[Azriel]** New Year's baby? That’s cute.

 **[Elain]** A lot about me is cute, I think you’ll find.

 **[Azriel]** I have to agree.

 **[Elain]** Where are you at?

 **[Azriel]** One of the hotels in Red Square.

 **[Elain]** Tell me which one… I can be there in fifteen minutes.

Azriel was so taken aback… that this beautiful university student would want an old broken man like himself. How could it even be possible?

**[Azriel]** Give me thirty. I want to shower/put some clothes on that don’t have holes in them and shave.

 **[Elain]** Ok, love.

Azriel gave her the name of the hotel—the Ritz. She sent him a slew of shocked emojis after that. He had the good sense to not elaborate. Rhysand would be up his ass about this more than usual. University students were always at the root of protests. Young and idealistic—they thought little of the souls who came before them—and their strife.

To be honest, Azriel fully planned to sleep with this girl, cook her breakfast in the morning—and never see her again.

He just couldn’t afford a secret affair.

There was too much at stake.

She’d eventually want to know what he did—and besides being filthy rich and very mentally scarred he did too much—he was always bouncing around the country. There was no future in it.

Azriel looks at his hands in the huge, sparkling mirror in the well-lit bathroom at the Ritz. He had the penthouse suite—as he always did when he came home to Moscow. They are mottled with horrid scars—the result of a terrible accident when he was a child. Well—it hadn’t been an accident, some of the kids at the orphanage—not Rhysand or Cassian—but some punks decided to pour gasoline over Az’s hands and light them on fire.

He’d been months in the hospital—had nearly lost his mind and his life.

Because he was _different_.

Azriel groans and leans on the sink, warm water dripping from his face, mixed with shaving cream.

He _did_ look more handsome with his stupid face shaved.

The past would never leave him the _hell_ alone, would it?

*~*~*

Azriel answers the door and the woman standing before him… is dressed in nothing but a trench coat. It’s definitely Elain, though, she has the same hair, with ribbons and winter flowers.

A smile spreads on his face, “Hello,” he croons.

Elain smirks at him and as soon as the door is closed the trench coat drops to the floor. Azriel is very happy that he got off in the shower—or he would’ve nutted right then and there. A low, feral snarl is torn from his lips.

Elain allows herself to be carried to the bedroom.

He deposits her on the bed, her tits bouncing in the barely-there negligee she had been wearing under the trench coat.

She purrs at him, and he takes one of her knees in his scarred hands and splays her legs wide on the bed.

“Fuck.” Elain swears as he massages one of her tits and teases her folds with his other hand.

“You’re fucking beautiful—holy shit.”

Elain’s eyes float closed and Azriel feels uncomfortable pressure building on his cock, as it hardens in response to the needy, red-blooded female in front of him. Her breasts are full and she’s so sensitive to his touch. It sends him into a frenzy, and though they haven’t kissed yet—he intends to put that to rights.

He needs to eat her first though.

And he does, he finger fucks her hard while he sucks on her clit, filling her with his pianist’s fingers. She’s so tight around him—he hopes she’s done this before—but doesn’t ask if she has. He couldn’t bear it if _he_ was her first.

“ _Solnishko_ …” Elain purrs in her sweetly feminine voice.

Azriel growls, and though he’d been fully clothes at the beginning of this—somehow his shift has been tugged off, his shoes kicked to the other side of the room, and his leaking, red cock is looking up angrily at him from it’s place in his hand.

“C-can I?” Azriel asks. Knowing he needs her enthusiastic consent more than anything else in the world right now.

Elain nods her head several times, laying back on the cushions for him to fuck her into the mattress.

Azriel rolls on the condom, and then… and then he sinks into her, to the hilt.

They both inhaled sharply—Azriel in pleasure—and Elain in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Azriel’s tone is stoney—what if he’d hurt her? That was his worst nightmare. 

“I-it’s my first time,” Elain confesses.

Azriel looks panicked in the extreme but doesn’t pull out. “It’s ok,” Elain says.

“A little warning might’ve been nice, sweetheart. Are you ok?” Azriel smoothes the few strands that have escaped from her updo. He feels the darkness trying to take him away from the bedroom… to drown him in previous lives’ memories.

“I’m ok now, c-could you fuck me now?” Elain’s cheeks are rosy, with need and embarrassment.

“Sure, princess.” Azriel’s hips tentatively push into her.

Elain looks pleased and then they’re moving in earnest. Azriel is much gentler on her than he’d originally intended.

He fucks her, for over an hour, and when they’re both spent and a little sore—Azriel swore he had the back of a seventy-five-year-old.

His spend is leaking out of her—after a moment of absolute insanity when Elain had insisted he come inside her—and he hadn’t refused her.

They are spent and boneless—but Azriel cleans her up and kisses her perfect, pink pussy when he’s done.

“Do I need to leave?” She asks, already gathering her things.

And Azriel is struck by how strange it is that she would ask that—he’d just made love to her and she was expecting to be kicked out—into the cold night air to go back to her apartment?

_No_. He wouldn’t.

He wasn’t that kind of male.

So he gathers her up in his strong arms and tucks her into bed.

He thinks he might never have another one night stand again—because he’ll be fucking her for the rest of his life.

_He wasn’t wrong._


	2. the dark side of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain comes to Azriel after a confrontation.

Azriel had never thought much of the countrymen who worked against his brother--he’d merely killed them without remorse and slept soundly in his bed. It had been the people that Rhys--the President of Russia, had made him torture that always made him so upset he was ill. For all Rhys’ missions into dark and dank parts of the world--Azriel never lost his humanity. 

He’d never lost the part of him that saw the best in others. 

That was, until about five minutes ago when Elain showed up on the front step of his new home in Moscow, her dress torn and a shiner looking up at him from her tear-stained eyes. 

“Elain?” He asked her, and she fell into his arms, holding onto him for strength. 

“I’m  _ fine _ .” But there was a note of fear in her voice. 

He rubbed her hair, “Tell me what happened, princess.” 

He closed the door, got her a glass of water, and sat down next to her, kissing her hair and rubbing her back. Whoever did this would pay with their life. 

Elain sips the water for a long moment and gives him a wintery smile. It’s now November and her smile matches the temperature outside. He can no longer feel the warmth in his home. 

“You… you know the guy I wouldn’t shut up about? Greyson?” 

Azriel continues to rub her back and nods--he doesn’t like where this is going. 

Elain scoffs, and it seems to be that she’s scoffing at herself, “He’s not a college student.” 

Azriel  _ really _ didn’t like that, “What is he, sweetheart?” 

Elain inhales a shaky breath and curls into Azriel, “He works for the government. He said he was security services--when he tried to assault me.” 

Azriel’s knuckles go white. Statistically--it was all too common. He just never thought--someone he loved would have to suffer through that. His voice is rough with emotion when he speaks, “Are you ok? He didn’t--” 

Elain shakes her head, “No, but it was close. I kicked him in the balls--hard.” 

Azriel holds her close, she is shaken, and he hates it. They don’t say anything for a long moment. Azriel wants to hide her here. The bastard-- if he had been truly security services--which he doubted-- he would be recalled to Moscow--and terminated. 

“Why don’t you go clean up--do whatever will make you feel the most comfortable. There are clean towels in the bathroom, and a clean, fluffy robe. I bet you want a few minutes to yourself.” 

Elain nodded, and disappeared into the bathroom, but gave Azriel a parting glance. “His name is Alexei Greyson, in case you’re going to report it.” 

Azriel gives her a sad smile--he wasn’t going to report it. 

He was going to go put a bullet in the fucker’s head. 

*~*~* 

It takes him all of fifteen minutes to locate the fucker--after looking up the man’s name in the citizen database--provided by the FSB--it had been easy to track and identify him. Azriel had government clearance and as it turned out Greyson  _ was  _ FSB. Azriel thought that was strange. He had clearly followed Elain here, but the damage she’d done to his cock and balls must’ve been substantial because he’s the only man in the nearby area that was bent over and breathing like a winded rhinoceros. 

Azriel does not waste time, he hauls the man, fighting him tooth and nail into an abandoned alleyway, “I’ll make this quick.” Azriel growls 

Alexei Greyson spits blood into Azriel’s face. 

The gun is cocked and pointed at the man’s head before Azriel can remove the offending body fluid from his cheek. 

“Do it,” Greyson taunts. “Do you know what they do to murderers in prison?” 

Azriel’s lips tilt upward, and he bears his teeth, “I am no murderer, more like an avenging angel.” 

Whatever Greyson was about to say is cut off by two bullets flying through the air, into Greyson’s head. The sharp noise of silenced gunfire fills the air. 

He stashes the gun in its holster and unscrews the silencer. He takes his time stashing the body in a garbage can. 

He crawls home and finds Elain crying on his bed. 

She whispers to him, “I was so afraid.” Her words will haunt him forevermore. 

But no one would ever touch her like that again. 

He holds her to his chest, and something has changed between them...that is irrevocable. 

*~*~* 

Azriel is recalled to the President’s office the next morning. It seems an ominous call, but in reality, Rhysand merely needs to speak to him about his next trip overseas. 

“Sit down, I can call for tea if you want,” Rhysand says, and points at the comfortable looking chair in front of the roaring fire. 

Azriel skips the formalities, “Brother—” 

Rhysand gives a pained sigh, “ _I’m fine_.” 

But given the noise of frustration and the recent email Azriel had received—he knew Rhysand was in no condition to be making the decisions he needed to be able to make. 

Azriel sits after a long moment, and, deciding he needed to see if his brother was truly ok— he pries into Rhysand’s life. 

“Tell me about her—how is Amy?” 

“Ruthless as ever—doesn’t share the same vision for a modern Russia as I do, but the people love her.” 

“Are you still—” 

“Allowing her to take me as she wills?” Rhysand’s voice is caustic as acid. His shoulders drop though, and it must be a relief for him to know he has Azriel’s anger. 

Azriel makes a disgusted face—not with his brother but with the situation, “I wasn’t going to ask that, I was asking if you were still letting her run the FSB for you.” 

Rhysand shrugs and Azriel feels rather than sees how broken his brother has become. 

It’s difficult to imagine what the world is like for Rhys, his beloved younger brother. What had become of Cassian was unthinkable to Azriel. 

Cassian had betrayed them all—and his country. He joined the goons at Foreign Intelligence Services in the UK, and had sold out countless Russians to gain his lofty position. 

There were rumors that someone close to the current regime was working with Cassian—whom though was in question. No one could find the person responsible for leaks and hacking—murder too. That was Azriel’s job, to find the thief in the night, who was selling out their country to the brother who’d gotten lost. 

Rhysand’s plight was one Azriel had hoped to help with many times over. He’d offered to truly murder Amarantha in cold blood too many times. Rhysand had never given him permission though, and Azriel knew things were getting desperate for his brother, for the leader of his country, and for the Russian people. 

So much of what Rhysand had hoped for Russia had to be whispered to the skies, carried aloft of cold winter breezes. Azriel now supposed that hopes were for fools. It occurs to him to take matters into his own hands—simply take Amarantha out and deal with whatever happened after that when it came. 

But there was more than him to think of now. 

Elain.

She was his light, even though they barely knew each other. 

Rhysand discusses business, and Azriel declines tea. 

Azriel leaves with dread mounting unfairly in his chest. 

He can never forget what he is—a thief in the night that takes lives on the wings of dark shadows. 

He could never give Elain what she deserved. 

*~*~*

Rhysand didn’t pry into what was bothering his brother and Azriel was glad for it. He returns home to find Elain gone and a note in her flowing handwriting on his pillow. 

_ Thanks for the save, pretty boy. I have class, text me if you want some tonight. _

The note makes him sad and happy all at once. She knew he’d hurt someone for her, and she hadn’t looked away from his darkness. The thought made his shoulders relax and took some of the tension out of his jaw. 

He hoped she got a lot of work done while she was away--because tonight they were going to go out on the town. Moscow was a party city and though it presented some interesting dilemmas for security, Azriel would be damned if he didn’t show Elain the town as he saw it. 


End file.
